Dead
by Adunaic
Summary: Zombies. Arn't we all just zombies? a story concerning a group of disgruntled individuals trying to survive a zombie outbreak. Kinda' depressing, I'll try and add some dark humor in the future. Due to change the first chapter soon.


Introduction

Mass chaos on the streets. A woman screamed something you couldn't quite make out. One of _them_ walking in a limping frenzy towards an elderly man, maybe 60, maybe less. But he definitely would have gotten the senior citizen discount at Denny's.

The city of Sacramento burned. Anarchy was to reign for as long as it could have its way. People died. The _Things_ ate them. Out of the ring of alarms, screams of pain, and moans from all directions, one had to wonder; what the hell had happened? What the hell had happened?

Had there been an attack on Sacramento? California? America? The Seas, The continents, the islands? Where did it end? Could the men on this earth who had begun to learn peace on this world they have used and squandered now turn to each other in primal instinct? Had the humans of our Earth taken their gift (by God or otherwise) of intelligence and forsaken it in the name of violence? Kill the fellow man in a primitive state of life?

The world had gone to shit. That's what had happened. Babies died in their peaceful cribs. Elderly men, such as Mr. Denny's Discount, were chased down and slaughtered. Guns cracked and people killed their fellow man in search of Salvation. Churches filled, and even those who would have claimed to hate the religion of the world begged for forgiveness from gods they would have insulted and shunned in the peace of their normal little world. For some, life had been normal.

Normal. Normal had been what somebody would call going to work on Monday, hating your job, and not doing a thing about it. Normal was when you sat in front of your TV in your pathetic state of mind, with the thrills of your life mostly consisting of who would win the next "Immunity Idol"on _Survivor_.

Most hadn't even seen it coming. On Survivor Sunday they lazed about when suddenly a craze had come up from the pits of hell, or so it seemed, and given them a stout kick in the ass.

And now the peace of life had been taken and blown to shit. Those who died in the opening stages were lucky; most would go on to say. But, to survive through the wrath of the beginning of it was amazingly lucky. Those in the world of anarchy and death wished now more than anything else to be back at their home and their job that made them want to hang themselves, which many did then, and would now.

Though, death seemed not too viable of an option. To die would be to cease, then rise again. To rise again in primal instinct and nature. To eat, the flesh and blood of one's fellow humans, when one was in hunger. And too kill all that moved. That's what happened to those that felt secure in their average little lives, confident that the forces that be would save them from the disaster that lurks behind every corner.

When the puffy layer of society crumbles without the support of our Presidents and Military, what is left? The core of our civilization started on a dog eats dog bases of life. But now, our base of life was sitting in your favorite Lazy Boy chair to see how badly Simon Cowel would burn the singers who humiliated themselves on live television. Our bases of life was driving to Mc Donald's if your hungry, not hunt and cook the prey which you had toiled to catch, and learned to prepare through trial and error.

Now creatures from who knows where roamed the earth, their lust for blood unquenchable, and no one could stop them, no one could find peace. No one could escape. They would perish by their own will, or the _things _will. They might defend themselves for moments, and then be eaten alive the next. What was to become of the world, so confident that it's wars and fights of religion were just, and that it was those childish quarrels that were so important. They were wrong. Oh, how they were wrong.

When you strip anything of its protection, its cycle, its way of living, what is left? Hell on earth. Hell on earth.

Chapter 1

Life as normal

The rain pattered down endlessly, falling out of the clouds hanging mournfully in the bright sky, casting a light gray over everything. He looks out his little window, his little view of nature. He sees the stone wall with moss on it, the plants bending in the wind. The trees sway madly and the smell of smoke is strong. The gray sky is rent by a streak of light. Thunder booms in his ears. The little garage a few feet beyond the stone barricade was dripping with water, it's tile roof spitting off the stream which poured on it without stop. Out on the street droves of rain came by in waves, the harsh wind driving it forward, whining in the cracks and crevices of the houses. The sky got darker still. With dirt sodden, branches broken, and plants struggling for their life, an odd sense of peace drew its way across him. The days were tedious and endless, and the rain was a soothing break for the monotinuity of his life. The sounds of footsteps floated softly through the house as he walked to the kitchen. The dusty acoustic guitar lying, unused, in the corner lifted from its place where it guarded a patch of dust bunnies. The smell of smoke wore down, the rain pattered out, and the dripping of all of mans creation was accompanied by the chords of guitar, that traveled to the window, and then beyond. The drainpipe outside his window gushed water without hope, and the tones of the instrument glided effortlessly. The piece of the world was present, the way of life happy and the plants and animals content to live or die by the wetness of the earth. Alas, soon to change.

Doyle moved to the window. He glanced briefly at the pattering rain, the droplets gathering on the plants, and the slides of water drifting down from the edge of the roof. He closed it as a car drove by, he heard it, didn't see it. He shut the glass with unnecessary slowness. He grabbed the incense stick on the windowsill and snuffed it out on the stand. The middle aged clerk proceeded to the room where he kept his bed, a large-albeit uncomfortable- excuse for a resting place. He left his guitar by the door and collapsed onto his mattress. He brought up the covers slowly, deliberately. Sleep came over him.

Richard sighed heavily. His cubicle didn't have a view. This made him sad, because he loved to watch the rain. Every time something about his little area of peace upset him, his mind would stray from work in the cramped little domicile, and he would think again about how much he needed to start his own business. Be his own boss. This quickly led to his childhood dreams of being a fireman. The fire made him think of a way to cool down. Ice-cream. The coldness made him think of how they always had the air conditioning up way to high. This brought him to his building. This thought brought him to his lonely little cubicle. This thought brought him back to work. Bugger. That report is due on Thursday. The rain came down in droves over the top of the building.

The rapping of the keyboard jogged through Johnny's ears. He loved to write when it rained. He liked to look out the window next to his computer and find inspiration. Sometimes, he'd write about what he saw. Sometimes he'd right whatever flowed out of his fingers, letting them flex their tiny muscles. Sometimes he'd work on one of his short stories. They never seemed to get past the introduction, or the first few chapters. Such is life, he thought. The rain began to patter out, as did his imaginative script. He would read it later and find it to be something about some soldiers in huge galaxy fighting chaotic betrayers. He would consider continuing that one. The aroma of food brought him to his feet. His shorts sagged a bit; size 21 wasn't a perfect fit. Johnny liked food. You wouldn't know it though. For a young man (perhaps a very old boy, really), hundred twenty pounds was pretty good. He was getting taller than his sister too, which made him happy. Was it pizza he smelled? Johnny picked up his pace toward the kitchen. He was going to find out.

The cords on Katherine's headphones jostled uselessly. The sound canceling personal speaker system blasted the sound directly into her ears. Everyone told her she'd be deaf by thirty. She was oblivious to the gouts of rain assaulting her window, just kept bobbing her head up and down with the beat of the music. It sounded poppy. She typed in a command furiously on the keyboard, talking with her friends about a movie, or a book, or some form or function of thing that might depict a _hot _boy; or someone with a "Shmexy Bod", as they would have it. She was called off for diner by a parental unit of some type or another. Her friends on Myspace would have to wait till later. She silently cursed and trudged out to the table.

The drill instructor barked and bellowed. The rain didn't help. Brian didn't really ever like the rain. And of course today they were riding their asses hard. This was the groups third run on the course… or was it their fourth? Brian didn't know. It didn't really matter. He just kept running. He was able to push his body to the absolute limits, and then some more. This was what he was trained to do. This is what they wanted him to be able to do. We leapt over the last wall of the obstacle course. He caught his boot on a spike and fell toward the ground, landing hard on is back. He removed the pain from his mind, got up, and ran full speed toward the beginning track, to the amazement of his fellow troopers. Inferior soldiers, he thought to himself. His fifth time through wasn't much different, minus the fall at the end. The wind whipped him in the face, and he blinked once to clear his eyes of the water. He hated the rain.

Mary was very excited. It was her first day at work. The funny rubber chicken hat that was forced upon all of the workers of this particular fast food chain ruined her lengthy brunette hair, which she had taken care to make light and frothy that morning. That was three hours ago. Her shift would be done soon, and she could go back to her crummy little dorm room and think of all the money she was earning on minimum wage and imagine what she would buy. She handed a tall scrumbly with a bent nose his bag, still warm and oily at the bottom; he grimaced as he took it and walked out.

It was getting late. 9:00 by her watch. The deep navy blue business suit was very expensive. The skirt was a bit short by her liking. She was glad she wasn't in the rain. Her footsteps tapped on the marble ground, the only sound except for the constant drone of rain splattering on the skylights above her located in occasional intervals. The clipboard under her right arm detailed her plan for the business meeting that she was so hastily on her way to. She pushed the thick black-rimmed glasses on her nose further up, and lightly tapped the "Up" button on the elevator as she approached the large golden doors. She waited on the marble floor. The golden entrance slid open silently, and she stepped in. there was no one inside. That was good. She wasn't good with friendly communication. Only the plain business chat that worked for men and women in three thousand dollar suits sitting around large tables, the ones who don't have a clue that at this moment that their products are well on their way of wreaking havoc on the world. They wouldn't spare it a second thought if someone had told them. It would have sounded like a load of bullocks. The soft single serving elevator music was nice, soothing. Some brass instruments hummed softly, accompanied by a light beat of a percussion device of some sort. She stepped out of the calm elevator, with the red velvet walls and wooden floors, and out into the lobby. The single serving melody that held her entertainment so vividly was forgotten, and she marched to the double wooden doors at the end of the long hall. She knocked tentatively and then swung them open gently.

Doyle woke up in a haze. He blinked once, twice, to get the sleepiness out of his eyes. He stumbled out of the bed. It was about 7 now. He would eat, and then go back to sleep. He was glad it was Sunday. He was also glad that he had filled up his tank with gas on his way home from the Store. Gas is so fucking expensive, he thought as he swung open the door to the garage. 80$ to fill up the car, which got awful gas mileage. It was a nice car though. Doyle loved his cars. He would always go to shows, and would frequently be in them. But with a Chevrolet Corvette with a 505-horse power v-8 engine, 6-speed Automatic and Manual transmission, convertible top, and optimum handling, it wasn't a huge surprise he always placed on the top 10. Doyle loved his cars. He hopped in the jet black automobile with the chrome rims and purple-blue streaks, and pressed a button to open the door. The pavement was wet. This was his worst regret on buying this car. It didn't hold traction on the wet pavement. But for forty-four thousand, it was a screamin' deal. He doesn't even remember how he had the money, but he did, and he spent it. Doyle loved his car. He ripped out of the garage (the speed limit in neighborhoods never really bothered him.) He left the convertible down and felt the wet air brush across his face. It was a lull in the rain. He lashed out of his residence at 9914, 34th street, Sacramento. He rode east for about a mile and a half to the newly built Haverson Street. He drove past the various fast food stores; Mc Donald's, Mooby's, Burger King. He stopped at a red light and looked to his right. _Mc Chicken's House of Poultry_. He nearly decided to pull over and eat there, but had heard most of their chicken had things that were bad for you in it. He didn't know what those things were, but he opted for _Uncle Danny's house of Brussels sprouts _instead, to be saferIt _was_ a place that served only Brussels sprouts 24/7, but after ten customers a day for a week, they decided that they should offer more. Now, every meal has at least some of the vegetable in them, rather than purely sprouts. He drove into the drive-through with his low car, and ordered the Chicken Breast in Brussels sauce, the stores own secret creation. Kinda' like KFC, Doyle thought. He paidwith cash and left back for home. He would go home to watch a movie, eat his chicken, and then trundle off to bed. It was life as normal.

Richard, the confused salesman, was absolutely sure the entire office was in conspiracy against him. Nobody had told him it was lunch brake an hour ago, and he had to rush to the fridge only to find his neatly packed bag lunch stolen by some prick. He grabbed once of the free sandwich and bottled water bags and ate mournfully. Third time this week. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Tomorrow was his Birthday. September the 21st he would be 31. The thought made him smile. He ate his musty sandwich and got back to work. It was life as normal.

Johnny had eaten four pieces of pepperoni before he finally retired from the table. He cleaned the dishes and put the box away before strolling back to his room where he would sit idly in front of his computer. The lull in the rain had ceased, and so he kept writing. The words were cold and flat, he realized after a brief overview, so he moved on the some cheesy Internet flash games before climbing into bed and trying feebly to go to sleep. It never came easily. He heard the blatantly annoying meow of his cat Nefer-Named Neferkitty after the Egyptian queen, but more frequently called Nefer-de-Heifer given by her large girth. Johnny crawled out of bed and picked up the fat, white cat and set her by his side. He petted her a little before drifting into a dreamless sleep. It was life as normal.

After returning from her pasta dinner, which she scarcely picked at, Katherine meandered back into her room, turned on her I-pod, and resumed chatting almost instantly. She looked back and forth trying to find the secrets of the perfect shading for her coloring/imaging system. She drew quite frequently and would draw pictures for her own amusement and post them, in their digitally colored glory, on various websites. She worked late into the night, 12:00, closer to one, actually, until she shut off her computer and slinked into bed. It was life at normal.

It was 1930 hours. It was his 18th lap around the drill grounds. The sergeant bellowed into a speaker that carried to Brian's ears, he said that this was the last lap. The tired masses gave a collective moaning roar and picked up pace a little. Brian remained silent and lapped the man with the small black ponytail a fifth time. He trundled up to the drill instructor, his boss for the last 14 hours. Brian made a crisp salute and began to head for the lockers. The sergeant said something about how he had done _pretty good, for a blackie. _This highly prejudiced statement was quickly discarded. If only he knew who he was talking too. What he was talking to. Brian shook off the remark and walked inside of complex alpha to change his fatigues and head home. The rest of the soldiers filed in slowly, and he was out before half of them had come in. He climbed into his old Jeep and drove off base. He would go home to his apartment complex, eat a frozen dinner, and nod to sleep. It was life as normal.

Mary was glad when her shift was over. She took off her funny hat, customary of all of the associates of _Mc Chicken's house of Poultry _and stuffed it in her bag. Her bright yellow and red striped shirt was quickly changed when she had arrived at her home, a college dorm. She cooked some_ Denison's _Chili and ate it in bed while watching the movie _Love Actually _for the twentieth time. When it had finished she drifted into the realm of sleep. It was life as normal.

By 11:04 the meeting in the dark, uncomfortable room was over. She left from her report on the current situation on the stocks, advertisements, health standards, and other such things to the sounds of the business men and women in there talking silently. She knew they wouldn't do a damn thing about the low health standards of _Mc Chicken's_, despite her feverish description of the topic, and mild argument of one of the men that questioned the details. She was taught never to argue with the big men of cultural society, but she did it this once to what she believed was great effect. Yet, they were worried more about the drop in stocks than in the highly inefficient health standards of their products… figures. She couldn't expect any more from them. They were primitive, really. All they cared about was money. How they would make more money. In there minds, it would cost more to raise health standards than to pay off the families of the people who get sick. This is how the ways of the world worked. It was life as normal.


End file.
